


Truth Has No Wings

by Tinq



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Cas's Grace, Cutting, Hurt, Hurt!Sam, Hurt!Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Light Sabriel, Self-Harm, Truth Spells, Wendigo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-03 11:09:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1742612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinq/pseuds/Tinq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam, Dean, and Cas go out to hunt a creature - with a plan in mind. But when that plan backfires on all three of them, Sam's darkest secrets will be revealed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ashtiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashtiel/gifts).



> Takes place after 6x12 'Like a Virgin' and 6x19 'Mommy Dearest.'
> 
> Does not involve the overall plotline of Supernatural, only mentions of Soulless!Sam

                “So what is this thing we’re hunting?”

Dean turned to Cas, who was currently standing at the door, ready to leave the crummy motel and finish the hunt they had been researching.

                “It’s just a wendigo, Dean.” Cas replied shortly. “But I’d like to learn more about them. They’ve been appearing all over the States, and creatures of this sort are not meant to be common. It may be leaving town soon – get your brother. I’ll be in the car.”

                With a flutter of wings, Dean was left standing in the hotel room, alone. Not counting the bathroom Sam was spending way too much time inside of.

                Dean made his way over to the door, and raised a fist to knock – just as it swung open, to reveal a doorway filled with Sam. He wore a long-sleeved plaid shirt and ragged jeans, even in the heat of the summer.

                Smirking, Dean dropped his fist. “Time to get moving, Princess. Cas said we need to go get this son of a bitch before it gets the hell out of dodge.”

                Sam nodded, his lips forming a tight line and his – very slightly – red eyes somewhere else in the world. Dean noticed, of course, as a big brother would, but knew that if he were to point out his younger brother’s lack of sleep he would pay for it later on.

                Dean moved towards the door, Sam at his tail, and tramped out to the Impala to join Cas. As Sam flicked off the motel room’s light, he cast a longing glance back at the bathroom. Then he was moving into the backseat of the Impala, not minding a bit that Cas was choosing to ride shotgun— again.

                Dean shot a furtive glance back at this brother, who let out a small sigh and stared out the back window. Sighing, Dean knew if he didn’t speak up now, the tiredness would only get worse. It was always happening, too – the younger Winchester would awake in the middle of the night, dangerous nightmares keeping him dancing on the edge of reality. It was – if Dean was being completely honest – sort of annoying. Not that he could blame the guy. Not everybody loses their soul and has to live in the aftermath.

                “Sam, dude, you’ve gotta get some sleep. We can stop at the pharmacy on the way home, we could get –“

                “I’m _fine_ Dean.”

                And at that touchy note, the three drove in a rather awkward silence, Sam running a tight hand up and down his forearm.

 

                “Turn left here.” Dean had gone down backroads, cliffside lanes, and an empty highway at Cas’s direction, but as Dean glanced to the left he thought protectively of Baby.

                “Cas, there is no goddamn road. Just dirt.” He rubbed the cars steering wheel affectionately. “Lots of dirt.”

                In the backseat, Sam had kept his eyes out the windows the entire time, and he observed the dirt landscape in disdain. Where, in all of that flat, sandy land, could a wendigo be hiding? Sam had a feeling he would soon be finding out.

                Back up in the front seat, Cas turned to Dean. “I will clean your car afterwards. In the meantime, we need to hurry up.”

                Dean sighed irritably, but turned onto the dirt landscape. He nodded warily to Cas, observing the dim-lighted space around him. “So, Cas, what’s the plan here?”

                “I want to learn more about how wendigo’s work.” Cas replied. “They seem to be appearing more frequently in this country, and I’d like to know more of their habits to see if there is a reason. I have a little… spell, for lack of a better word. Power, trick, that my Grace can cast. If I wish it to be so, I can cast a spell that forces the receiver to expel the truth and only the truth, no matter what barriers are put up. If we can find a way to trap the wendigo, I may learn more.”

                Dean nodded, smirking only slightly. “I can only assume you have a way to make this son of a bitch talk?”

                Cas nodded, and turned back to the window the window to search the landscape.

                “I like the plan, Cas, but how to hell did you know this thing was even here?”

                At this point, Sam tuned out their conversation, and instead studied the location around him, just as Cas had been doing. Right as the sun sank down below the horizon, a rickety old house connected to an old gravel road appeared straight ahead. Cas nodded in its direction and, soon enough, the Impala was parked outside and the three made their way to the trunk.

                A moment later, each of the men – and angel – were armed with iron knives and a small blowtorch, not to mention the pistol they had undoubtedly tucked into the back of their pants, loaded with iron rounds.

                “Alright.” Dean peered in through the front window, seeing nothing but a dirty house. “Once we get in, I’ll go left; Cas, you go straight, and Sam – Sam?”

                The taller Winchester was on the edge of the porch, staring down at his feet, entranced. A million thoughts were crossing his mind. What if he messed the hunt up? He had never had these thoughts, not like this.

                “Sam!” Dean barked, causing his younger brother to flinch back into reality. “Sam, you go left.”

                Sam nodded, and gripped his knife tight, ready to face what the houses insides had to offer.

                The three nodded to one another grimly, and entered the house, trying not to sneeze from all the dust. Flicking on their flashlights, Dean moved to the left room – a large parlor connecting to a basement, Cas straight towards the upstairs, and Sam towards the living room and kitchen.

                Eyeing the space around him, Sam saw nothing other than rickety wood flooring and dust. He shook his head – how could Cas have known the wendigo was here in the first place, anyway?

                Just as Sam moved from the run-down living room to the kitchen, he heard a sound behind him; very subtle, very quiet, but nevertheless the sound of claw on wood.

                As slowly as he could manage, Sam drew his iron knife out, along with the gun in his back pocket – and turned to face whatever beast awaited him. He was greeted by the silhouette of something tall, with claws that arched back dangerously. It was obviously the wendigo. If the situation had not been so dire, Sam was sure Dean would have made a Wolverine joke.

                Sam did the one thing he could do, that would have the same effects, and more, of simply calling out into the house – he fired his gun straight through the wendigo’s chest. The creature hissed loudly, most likely wounded but not fatally, and approached Sam, who was now standing on shaking legs, his knife waiting for the monster to engage.

                “Sam! Cas?!” Dean’s husky voice called out in the house. It was just then that the creature leapt at Sam, digging its claws into his arms and legs. Letting out a loud, strangled cry, Sam twisted and bent, trying to cut the creature off of him, to no avail. The monster had him in a grip that caused blood to spurt from Sam’s arms like a fountain. He found his mind on three people – Dean, Castiel, and Gabriel. But why? He wasn’t dying? Or was he? The only image he had in his mind, watching the blood seep out from his flesh, was the night Dean was killed by hellhounds…

                “Sam, do not move!” Cas’s gruff tone caused Sam to freeze, allowing the creature to dig into him freely. The dark room filled up with a blue light that was cast from Castiel’s outstretched palm. Sam stood as still as he could, his mouth wide open, screaming, as the creature lifted its claw and struck Sam across the face.

                And that was all it took. The simple blow knocked Sam to the side, his ankle twisting under him as he struggled to stay standing. Sam shifted his foot, still trying to shake the thing from his arms, and stepped to the side – right into Cas’s line of fire.

                The room erupted in a blue light, as Sam and the creature were rocketed against the opposing wall, the spell hitting Sam square in the back.

                “Sam!” Dean yelled, running towards his bleeding brother, a confused and worried Cas approaching from behind him. Dean pulled the creature off of his brother, wincing as he felt the claws pull out of Sam’s torn flesh.

                The younger Winchester let out a small whimper as Cas approached him.

                “How do you feel, Sam?” He asked, ignoring Dean’s incredulous glance.

                “H…hurts. Bad. Legs…n… bad…”

                Dean looked up at Cas, completely panicked.

                “Do something!” He shouted, grabbing Castiel’s wrist and yanking him down on to the uneven floor.

                Cas opened his mouth to speak, but Dean interrupted. “Just heal him, damnit!”

                Cas complied, placing two of fingers onto the forehead of the very bloody Sam Winchester. Instantly, the lines and cuts and scars that ran deep into Sam, vanished, and he was left as a large figure lying on the floor of a dirty house. It took a minute of shaking his younger brother’s shoulders, but Dean managed to get Sam’s eyes open.

                “Dean… Cas…” Sam shuffled his legs, his arms reaching out for Dean, who grabbed onto them like a lifeline.  Attempting to get away from the disgusting creature beside him, Sam pulled at Dean, trying to get to his feet.

                “I am truly sorry, Sam.”

                Sam nodded, looking up at the angel. “I deserved it.”    

                Silence. Sam was panicking internally – that was the truth, of course, but he had not intended to say it. The thought in his mind had been precisely, ‘It’s alright, Cas, I’m fine now.’ Three different expressions masked their usually calm-under-pressure faces. Sam, his eyes wide and his face horrified, Dean, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth open, and Castiel, who looked confused at Sam’s words. After a moment of silence, Dean was the first to speak.

                “What the hell, Sammy! No you don’t. Do you really think that?”             

                Sam bit his lip at Dean’s words, an apology forming on his face. In his mind, Sam was ready to say ‘no.’

                “Yes.” Sam’s face bulged and he clamped his mouth shut. Dean’s eyes flashed, and he held his younger brother tighter.

                “Don’t you dare, _ever,_ think that, Sammy, that is not true, and you know it. What the hell, man….” Not knowing what to say next, Dean lifted his brother onto his feet, and turned to look at Cas, who had a sudden look of understanding across his face.

                “My spell.” He said. “It hit Sam. My truth spell…” Though Cas did not feel like humans, he also was not unfeeling. Surprisingly his voice faltered and he looked at Dean, not knowing what to say next.

                Dean was quiet, and Sam could tell he was speaking only to Castiel when he growled. “Let’s go back

Castiel shook his head. “I’m sorry, Dean, but I believe my immediate concern is finding a way to fix Sam…”

                Sam cringed visibly at the words, but Dean kept his hard eyes on Castiel. “You come back as soon as you find an antidote, or whatever the hell you need. Deal?”

                Castiel’s eyes moved from Sam to Dean, knowing leaving the two alone to bicker would not be wise… “Yes.” And with a flutter of wings, Castiel was gone.

                For a moment of awkward silence, the two were left standing in the old houses. Then Dean stalked out to the Impala, leaving his younger brother alone to shiver in the darkness.

               


	2. Chapter 2

By the time the two brothers arrived back the motel, Dean had already gotten out his words in the Impala about what Sam had said and how Sam could have held his tongue.

                There was a sinking feeling in Sam’s chest, something he had only felt a few times before, and he knew he needed to keep his mouth shut this time or face the consequences of sharing his thoughts with his brother. Dean, of course, noticed and was so eagerly sucked into reprimanding his brother for what he had said.

                This time Sam just didn’t have the energy to argue back. Instead, he stared, glassy-eyed out the window, a white knuckle grip clenching at his forearm like a lifeline.

                Back at the motel Sam made a bee line for the bathroom. Too tired to deal with any of Sam’s shenanigans, Dean dropped on the bed with a growl. He was out within the next ten minutes, snoring gently, the frown on his forehead only beginning to relax.

                Sam, on the other hand, stood in front of the bathroom mirror for the next five hours his hands with a taut grip on no longer his arm, but the knife cutting into it. He did not cut for the full five hours – he knew better, he’d bleed out. But he’d add a small cut to his collection, and then wait another hour, than add another. In those hours he’d navigate his mind, through the other things that he would have said in front of his family if Dean had not stopped him.

                He’d do the same thing every night. He’d never cut too deep and he’d never cut too long. From the first few times he had cut his forearm, he had done so recklessly, desperately, slicing dangerously close to his hands. It was hard to wear long sleeves all the time, not that it was summer, but Sam was more than willing to make the sacrifice.

                It started a long time ago, back when he drank demon blood. Before angels, vessels, before the problems that came with being the apparent ‘boy king’ of hell. That had been a few years back – now Sam had lost his soul, regained it, and was being forced to deal with the slowly returning memories. And so he cut. But it wasn’t just punishment to him.

                It was a reason. A real reason to keep going. Sam knew too well how badly he messed up in the presence of Dean Winchester. He knew he made too many mistakes – both on hunts and in life – and more than anything Sam Winchester knew that he was much too far gone. Because, deep inside the brain of his that could solve math problems in seconds, the one that knew the lore behind almost every creature out there, Sam Winchester knew that if he had not been born his parents would both be alive and Dean would be… Dean. He would have a normal, apple pie life without a younger brother to worry about screwing everything up. And Sam knew, as he cut his arm over the sink again, letting a stray tear fall, that there was no going back. Ever.

 

                The next morning, after Dean’s long slumber and Sam’s fitful tossing and turning, Sam found himself standing in front of Dean. The eldest Winchester sat at the end of his bed, noticeably ready for a speech. Sam kept his mouth bolted.

                “Listen, Sam… I know you wouldn’t have said… any, of what you said yesterday, if you didn’t have that angel mojo on you. But, dude – is that really what you think?”

                Sam kept his mouth shut and Dean kept his eyes sharp, looking for a sign that his brother was going to confess or lie.

                “I’ll take that as a yes… but… no chick-flick moments, alright? I just… I figured I could… ask you a few questions… just, so, you know, I could… get some things… out of the way?” Dean looked up at his brother. “Don’t look at me that way.”

                Sam let out a denying snort and stared daggers at his older brother.       

                “Yeah, well, too bad. Now sit your ass down and get talkin’.”

                Sam glanced at the space beside Dean – and reluctantly sat down on the other bed in the room.

                Rolling his green eyes, Dean asked, “Great. First question – did you mean what you said to Cas and I yesterday?”

                An expression of pain crossed Sam’s face, but he managed to open his mouth to speak.

                “Yes…” He said quietly, guilt and inability not to say what he wanted to say holding him down. “But I know… I mean… it’s… yeah.”

                Dean nodded. “I figured. Well, that’s… we’ll take about that later, I guess…” Dean cleared his throat. “Next question. What do you think about angels?”

                Sam visibly relaxed at the harmless question. “A lot of them are complete dicks. But I like Cas. And I like Gabriel a lot, he’s… he’s helped and hurt. And Balthazar can be a pain in the ass but he’s helped out before, and Joshua helped us out a lot. That’s… that’s pretty much it.”

                Dean nodded, pleased with the answer. “Alright. What about Cas in particular?”

                Sam eyed his brother warily. Then he just let the words out. “He’s amazing. In that weird, super-hero, ‘my people skills are rusty’ kind of way. He’s saved our asses and made mistakes, and if angels had last names his would be Winchester. I also think-“

                Sam slapped a hand over his mouth and made a dive for the paper and pen on the bedside nightstand. Quickly, he scribbled out a message and handed it to Dean.

 

_When there’s something I don’t wanna say, I’ll put a hand over my mouth. Deal?_

                Dean furrowed his brow. “Fine. But… was it a bad thing?

                Sam smiled to himself. “No. But some theories should probably be kept inside this conked up head of mine.”

                At this, Dean nodded. “Fair enough. Alright, Sammy, for 50 points…” Sam rolled his eyes and Dean wiggled his eyebrows. “You got a crush on anyone?”

                Sam made the mistake of defensively opening his mouth to retort when the answer flew out. “Yes.”

                Sam’s hands flew up over his mouth a second too late, and Dean chuckled lightly. “So? Spit it out Sammy!” Dean teased, making a goofy face.

                Sam kept his mouth shut, shaking his head over and over. It was then that Dean launched himself forward and pulled Sam’s hands off of his mouth so that he could answer.

                “Ga…” He shut his mouth, and looked at Dean with scared eyes – but Sam’s eldest brother only left.

                “Well, I’ll see what I can do. I’m gonna guess Gabrielle?”

                Sam sighed with visible relief, and grabbed the pad of paper and wrote out:

_Dude. No. I’m not talking about this; not allowed._

                Dean chuckled at the sight of his younger brother in complete panic mode. Sam chuckled – maybe a little Q and A wasn’t so bad after all. But then Dean lowered his voice and looked across at his brother seriously.

                “Why do you always wear long sleeved shirts?”

                The reaction was both immediate and extreme. Sam’s face paled as he slapped his hands over his mouth, shaking his head wildly. Another moment later Sam was slamming the bathroom door behind him, leaving Dean alone in the motel room to wonder what he said, or what he did, to make it go wrong.

                Shaking his head, confused and disappointed, Dean made his way to the bathroom and pounded on the door.

                “Sam! What the hell, man?” Sam was standing in front of the mirror – again – an uncomfortable, sinking feeling in his chest. This was wrong… all wrong. Dean was never supposed to ask… those were Sam’s walls, it was Sam’s kingdom, and Dean was not allowed to even have a glimpse of the dungeon.

                Sam let out a cracked sigh, letting a few tears escape. Making sure the door was locked, he made his way over to the sink. He gripped the edge of the dirtied marble too hard, as he stared at his reflection in the cracking motel mirror. His lips were dry and his eyes were red, tears slipping down his cheeks. Nothing was ever supposed to go this way. This wasn’t what he asked for. Nobody ever told him he should have asked for something better… he had never had the chance.

                There were voices, in the back of his mind, telling him that there should be blood on his arms. Those little whispers, combined with the shouting of his own internal voice, was enough to drown out Dean’s voice on the other side of the door.

                Double-checking to make sure the door was locked, and adding an honest, “I don’t want to talk Dean!” for good measure, Sam drew out the clean switch blade he kept in his back pocket – always – and leaned over the sink, watching the red slowly drip from his arm to the sink.

                Outside the door, Dean didn’t know what to say or do. He contemplated kicking the door down, but instead he took a more strategic route – calling Cas.

_Cas, man, I know you’re probably looking for an antidote, but I really need you, I need help –_

                “Dean?” Cas’s gravelly voice caused Dean to jump. “You called?”

                Dean whirled around from the bathroom door and did his best to explain in a short amount of time. “Cas, this is urgent. I… I was asking Sam questions. Just – goddamnit, I was just saying little, damn, questions, stuff that never mattered, and I asked him… sonuvabitch! I asked him why he always wore long sleeves and then he shut himself in the bathroom… Cas, open the damn door, please!”

                Cas furrowed his brow but nodded, and turned the doorknob, no longer locked from the inside. What Dean and Cas found… neither of them had been expecting.

                “Sam, what the hell are you doing!”

                Sam stood over the sink, not entirely self-aware in the overall rush of things. “I’m… I’m… cutting my arm…” The words were choked out of Sam’s throat, and the rest was all a blur. The door stayed open as Cas and Dean fought to restrain Sam, who kept trying to remain bent over the sink. Dean was swearing, Cas had his teeth clenched, and the two fought for the knife until Cas grabbed it and it disappeared into thin air.

                Sam was lifted onto the bed, thrashing, moving against Dean’s hands, and drifting off into a merciful sleep until Cas’s two fingers made his own sweaty forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this chapter got a bit darker but... I hope you enjoyed, and everyone's alright!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd! Eep! I hope you enjoy, this one's short but, you know...

    Dean remembered his time in hell on a frighteningly vivid level. It was hot and cold, like a constant fever, and you were constantly coughing, but not out of sickness but out of the blood in his throat and the screams that he couldn't help but release. You were tortured almost constantly - the worst kind, the kind that demons were trained to do for all their lives. If they were alive at all. And then suddenly they try and turn the tables on you. They turned the tables on Dean, giving him the option to be the cause and not the effect anymore. It took a while - forty hell years, in fact - for Dean to agree. And then torturing was an entirely new level of pure  _hell._ But Dean tortured for a long, long time downstairs and remembered all of it. Remember the thrashing and the sweat and the choking and the screaming that ceased to be anything but constant. Dean remembered every single moment of it - and seeing Sam thrashing around on the bed until his eyelids sunk under Castiel's hand? It was just someone else's hell. Not that hell shared that multi-roomed trait with heaven. Not unless you counted the cells.

     In the motel room, on the bed Sam had been forced into sleep on, it was like a prison cell. He took up every inch and fought to get out of it when he could. Now his limbs were spread-eagled all about, the sheets ripped up, the blankets just a heap from the waist down. The frown on his forehead was only just beginning to leave him and it was only after five minutes of breath-catching silence that Dean turned to Castiel.

     "Cas." The one word told Cas more than enough. The angel frowned, looking over at the man - the seemingly small boy, on the bed - and let out a sigh.

     "Dean." Cas started, but Dean shook his head. He didn't know what the angel was about to say, but he was sure it wasn't what he was looking for.

     "Cas, what the hell do I do? What do we do? What do we say when he wakes up? What do we say... for the rest of his life? How? I mean, why would, why..."

     Cas furrowed his eyebrows, staring intently at Dean. "If it's a  _why_ you're seeking I can... well, I can look into his thoughts. If you wished me to do so."

     Dean looked up from his hands. "Wouldn't you need his consent?"

     "No," Castiel answered. "Not in this situation, no."

     Dean nodded, not bothering to wonder what the hell that was supposed to mean. He nodded again when Cas looked at him inquiringly, and nodded another time when Cas was standing by Sam's bedside and looked again to Dean for reassurance. "Yeah, Cas. Go for it." Dean did all he could to ignore the fact that his voice shook.

     Cas put two fingers to Sam's forehead, and stood still, his mind leaving Dean alone in the hotel room.

 

___

     Sam's mind was cold. Which was unusual, Castiel thought, for a mind, but he let the thought go. He could ponder the curious mind of Sam Winchester later on - for now, answers were what Dean and he were seeking.

     To an angel, a mind wasn't really a place. It was just space where you suddenly knew things you did not know before, if you so wished to know. Sometimes it took on a location - a small room, an apartment, a cave, something small and possibly cozy - and sometimes it did not. In Sam's case, Cas felt himself frowning when he realized what it is Sam's mind had took the form of. 

     A cage.

     Made of wrought iron metal, hard and tough, something that would take an angel more than five seconds to break. In other words, humanly impenetrable. Which of course brought Cas to notice all the dents on the cage and the broken pieces. He shook his head yet again - he had a mission in here. He needed answers.

     "Why did Sam Winchester bring harm to his own self?"

     Castiel's voice rang out for about a minute before he received an answer, though certainly the opposite of the one he had been expecting.

     "What's the pretty boy angel doing in here, eh?" No matter what powers Cas knew he possessed, the voice still caused him to still, caused his eyes to widen. "I didn't think heaven's little soldiers could handle somewhere so... hm... cold?"

     Cas turned to face the speaker. "Lucifer." He began. "What are you doing here?"

     Lucifer laughed, the hair on the back of Cas' neck standing up. The devil gestured to the space around him, looking at the iron with pride. "I live here, angel! This is my home. Forever and always." He winked. "We have a trust ring, it's all good here."

     Castiel bristled. "I mean, what are you doing in Sam Winchester's mind? You do not belong here."

     Lucifer looked mock-offended, throwing a hand to his agape mouth. "Well, that isn't very nice, now is it? Barging into someone elses home and telling them that they don't belong! I believe Dad's spun that tale with me, though, so maybe I'll write this one a bit differently." He looked up thoughtfully. "Or maybe not."

     "You do not belong here, Lucifer," Castiel began. "I do not know if you are a figment of my... of Sam's imagination or if you have somehow implanted yourself into Sam's brain, but-"

     "Oh, relax!" Lucifer scoffed. "You soldiers have always had sticks up your asses, haven't you?" He picked at one of his nails, looking around the cage. "No, I'm not the real thing. But I am to Sam. He's not convinced, no, the boy's not that stupid - but Sammy boy here is convinced I should stay. Isn't that right, Sammy?"

     Lucifer's eyes moved to someplace beyond Cas - to another figure that Castiel had not previously acknowledged.

     Cas turned to find Sam faltering, under the pressure of the angel and the devil and the sudden need to express what he was feeling in words no matter how impossible it seemed. "Cas, you... you can't be here." Sam's voice shook and something told him Sam was not the only mind behind the decision.

     "Sam..." Cas' voice softened, and he stepped towards Sam, who immediately took two more steps back. 

     "No, you... Cas..." His voice cracked. "This isn't... you can't see this..."

     Castiel looked at him, concerned, yet thoughtful. "I will leave," He said. "If you answer me one thing."

     Sam knew already what was going to be asked, and yet he nodded. "Find." Sam nodded again. "The sooner the better."

     "Why did you bring harm to yourself?"

     Sam's answer was barely a whisper, but Castiel managed to hear anyway. "Because being numb is better than feeling the loss..."

     "The loss of who?"

     "M-"

 

     And the moment was gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all so much for reading! I really appreciate it. I'm thinking I'll be able to crank out two more chapters after this. I hope you're enjoying it, and stay tuned for more!
> 
> Again, thank you!


	4. Chapter 4

Cas’ eyes flashed open and he stood with a short huff. Immediately Dean jumped off the other bed and onto his feet, moving around the motel room to steady his friend, whose eyes seemed slightly glazed and a tad off balance. “Woah, woah, Cas. Sit down.”

 

The angel complied immediately, relief falling to his feet as soon as he sat down on the opposite bed. Dean stood above him, looking him up and down warily. “So? What happened?”

 

Immediately Dean could tell this answer would not be a good one. Cas gained composure over himself and grimaced slightly, looking up at the older Winchester. “Sam was not alone in his mind.”

 

Silence. Dean looked down at Cas, confused, indignant, utterly out of his league. “What?” He spluttered. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, who else would be in his mind?”

 

“Lucifer.” Cas answered, teeth clenching lightly on the word. “He would not allow me to speak to Sam, who seemed to be their in a corporeal form, as was Lucifer. Sam told me that I could not be there, that I should not see his mind. I told him I would depart immediately if he answered one question.” Cas swallowed. “I asked him why he had brought such harm to himself.”

 

Dean’s jaw tightened, and his eyes grew both determined and misty. “Goddamnit, Cas, don’t keep me waiting - why, why did he do it?”

 

“His answer… was perplexing.” Cas’ brow furrowed and he squinted his eyes, thoughtful. “He told me that being numb is better than feeling the loss. When I asked the loss of whom, he did not get his full sentence out - I suspect the thought of Lucifer cut the meeting short. All I heard was the letter M. Therefore, it would be better than feeling the loss of someone whose name begins with M.”

 

Dean ran a hand over his face, through his hair, turning around to look at this sleeping brother. “What the hell, Sam. What the hell…” Dean turned back to Cas. “Could it have been, you know, Mom?”

 

Castiel turned the thought over in his mind. “It would be a possibility. It is plain fact that if Sam had not been born both of your parents would still be alive at this point, I can imagine that would come with some form of guilt.”

 

Dean dropped the hand from his face. “Ya think?” Letting out another sigh, he searched his mind. “But is that all we have to go on? He cuts himself because… because of Mom? That doesn’t sound like Sam.”

 

“Does any of this,” Cas started. “Sound like him?”

 

Gritting his teeth, Dean replied, “No, but it’s Sam. Nothing sounds like him but rabbit food and nerdiness.”

 

Cas nodded vaguely, deep in thought. He had fully regained his balance now but the mystery was tugging at him, as if the answer was quite obvious and yet the angel could not quite grasp at it.

 

“What do we do now?” Dean asked, glancing at his brother than back down at Cas. “I mean, we could wake him up and ask him, but somehow I don’t think it’s gonna work. Remember how well our last questioning went?”

 

With a sigh, Cas replied, “We can either wake him up and question him together, or I could attempt to re-enter his mind. I can’t say I would have a very good success rate, though, what with that image of Lucifer holding on to his mind.”

 

Dean nodded. “And you’re sure that’s, you know, not the real Lucifer? I really can’t have Satan in my brother’s head right now.”

 

“Yes.” Cas replied, nodding. “It’s not the real Lucifer. I would be immediately aware of his rise, his power is too strong to ignore.”

 

“Alright.” Dean clapped his hands together with a sigh. “I say we wake him up, calm him down, and see what we can get out of him, alright?”

 

Cas nodded, standing up and moving past Dean to the side of Sam’s bed. Gently, with Dean standing on the other side, he played two fingers to Sam’s forehead. Immediately the man’s brow furrowed and a moment later his eyes shot open. He sat up as fast as he could, as far as he could, which was not very - both Cas and Dean had placed a hand to his shoulder, gently pushing him back onto the pillow.

 

“Sam.” Cas greeted softly. “We need to talk.”

 

Sam shook his head, mouth tight.

 

Rolling his eyes, very obviously impatient, Dean snapped, “Yeah, well, you don’t really have an option right now. We’re gonna sit here and ask until you answer. Got it?”

 

Sam shook his head again but it didn’t stop Cas from taking a seat on the opposite bed, nor Dean pulling up a chair and swinging it around so he had one leg around either side.

 

“Sam,” Cas started. “You did not have the chance to fully answer my question while I was in your mind. Being numb is better than feeling the loss of who?”

 

Once again Sam shook his head, arms over his stomach, lips sealed tight. Cas furrowed his brow and Dean seethed quietly. “Sammy. You gotta answer us. We’re gonna help you through this.”

 

Sam shook his head slower now, keep his eyes on his hands, carefully avoiding his brothers gaze.

 

Cas cleared his throat. “Sam, we will continue to ask until you give us a proper answer. Who are you feeling the loss of?”

 

And Cas and Dean continued like that, changing the question every so often. They needed to know everything, but Sam gave them essentially nothing. Even asking about their Mom didn’t work - to that question Sam simply shrugged, his eyes boring holes into his hands. He visibly flinched when the name Lucifer was uttered, he cringed when Dean or Cas touched him or mention the scars on his arms, and every time he was asked who he was feeling the loss of, he shook his head.

 

With a final grit of teeth, Dean spat out another question. “Damnit, Sammy, answer me! Answer me, why aren’t you answering the questions!”

 

And for once, Sam opened his mouth. “Because,” He croaked, voice soft and broken. “I’ll tell the truth. And I can’t, Dean. You’ll yell at me.” He closed his mouth and looked down at his hands.

 

Dean shook his head, again and again. “No, Sammy, c’mon.” The Winchester’s voice softened as he leaned closer to his brother. “Sam, Sammy, it’s okay. I wanna help. I do. That’s why we’re asking. So we can help.”

 

Sam shook his head. “But you can’t help.”

 

Cas spoke up, interrupting whatever question Dean was about to ask. “Why can we not, Sam?”

 

Sam shrugged, trying to hide the sudden wetness in his eyes. “You can’t save me from me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this new chapter. I'm thinking I'm either going to cram it all in to one more chapter or have at least two more - we'll see in these coming weeks. I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Thanks again!


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